Potions
by Bethany Ruth
Summary: Arthur and Eames go to Hogwarts. They have Potions class together. I'll definitely write more of these. This might become a story of Arthur/Eames Hogwarts drabbles. I have an obsession. Any particular scene/short story ideas are more than welcome :D
1. Chapter 1

As a general rule, Eames hated Potions. It was a boring class, full of boring things, and it had nothing on Defence against the Dark Arts. Well, apart from one thing: Arthur. Arthur was the light at the end of the dreary Potions tunnel for Eames. They had been paired together by Professor Slughorn on the first day of their third year. Now they were in their sixth and still paired together, all because Slughorn hates change with a passion. Over those three years, Eames is relatively certain he's completely and utterly in love with Arthur. Which is bad. Really bad. In his first year, Eames was put into Slytherin house – essentially the _worst_ house to be in. Arthur was in Ravenclaw: the house Eames saw to be full of the geniuses and best fighters. That's where Arthur was; where Eames wanted to be, but mostly, it was what kept them apart. Well, that and the fact that Eames was pretty sure Arthur was none too fond of him. Eames was fortunate enough, however, to have three classes with Arthur. The other two were: Flying, and Care of Magical Creatures though, which was a lot more practical work than Potions, and kept them away from each other for most of the lessons. They weren't partners in the other lessons either. In Flying everyone worked individually, and in Care of Magical Creatures, Arthur was paired with _Draco_. Eames, _hated_ Draco. In fact, hate wasn't a strong enough word. Eames detested Draco, Eames _loathed_ Draco. The way Eames saw it: Draco was the biggest prick that ever lived, and – _somehow _– still got all the good-looking dates. Sure, Pansy Parkinson was a total bitch, but she was _fine_. Recently – in Care of Magical Creatures classes – Eames had noticed Draco turning the charm on to Arthur. _His_ Arthur. Jealousy consumed him as Eames witnessed Arthur struggling with a Billywig, only to have _Draco_ laugh endearingly as he took it gently from Arthur's hands, allowing their fingers to brush just long enough so Arthur would cast his eyes to the floor and blush in that _positively adorable_ way that only he could do. Eames swears, if Draco so much as looks at Arthur in that lewd way again, he'll rip his throat out with his bare hands. In Potions though, that's where Eames could have his way with Arthur, sort of. They were together in Potions, and over the years they'd formed something of a bond. Eames wasn't much use when it came to Potions, but Arthur was beyond clever, and kind enough to help Eames try and understand – which was a difficult task, considering Eames spent roughly 95% of every lesson fantasising about all the wondrous, scandalous things he would do to Arthur if they were ever left alone.

"Eames, are you listening?"

"Do you fancy Draco?"

"What does that have to do with Potions?" Flabbergasted, Arthur's face was a picture of shock and surprise that would have Eames keeling over in laughter were it not for the question playing on his mind. Resting his face moodily on the palm of his hand, leaning onto their work surface stubbornly, Eames only moved his eyes so he was looking up and making contact with Arthur's.

"Answer the question."

Arthur looked down and blushed, just like he did when Draco flirted with him. "That's...none of your business Eames." Eames' stomach twisted with the growing desire to smother Draco with a pillow that night. It was Arthur's cautious concern that made Eames realise that he had gripped his pencil so hard it had snapped in his palm. "Eames are you alright?"

"No." Eames ground out. Why did Arthur have to fancy _Draco_? Why did Eames have to fancy _Arthur_?

"W-why not?" Arthur leaned a little closer to Eames' face, concern turning into curiosity. "Do _you _fancy Draco?" Arthur's American voice warped the word 'fancy' around: his lexis was naturally different to Eames'; he was just copying for effect.

"_No_." Eames replied with such blunt vehemence his aversion to Draco was palpable. "I. _Hate_. Draco Malfoy." Arthur reeled back, his eyebrows shooting up and his eyes bulging, almost comically.

"_Why_?" At this, Eames could hold himself back no longer: he straightened up from his leaning position with such haste that Arthur flinched a little, forcing a miniscule amount of guilt to form somewhere within Eames.

"Don't you see it Arthur? Draco's a pure, utter prick. He's rude, smug, heartless, and a genuinely _bad_ person!"

"How could you say something like that?" Their shouts – although hushed – were still causing some stir from the tables around them. "Since I met him, Draco has been nothing but loyal, honourable, and...charming."

"Oh so that's it, is it? His _charm_'s got you." Sarcasm dripped from Eames' mouth with every syllable. "Well he might act that way around _you_. But not around everyone else. Not around _me_." Driving further meaning to his point, Eames leaned to Arthur – leaving millimetres between them – and yanked his sleeve up so that Arthur could read the scar on his forearm: mudblood. It had been cut into him. Arthur audibly gasped at the inscription and gently took Eames' arm.

"_He_ did this to you?" He looked up at Eames' eyes; his own sparkling with what Eames feared would soon become tears. Eames pulled his sleeve back down, but encouraged Arthur's hands to stay where they were – on Eames' thick forearms.

"Him and his minions yes. Took five of them to hold me down mind you, but he was still the one driving that compass into my skin over and over, just to get his pathetic point across. Bastard."

"Eames I –I'm so sorry. I had no idea. If I'd known then I wouldn't-"

"Wouldn't what?" Eames looked down at Arthur, optimistic hope filling him.

"I wouldn't pay any attention to him. I won't pay attention to him. I promise. You mean more to me than he ever will."

"But I thought you-"

"Don't be stupid." Arthur almost scoffed at Eames. "I'm not crushing on Draco." Eames nearly exploded with joy. "I'm totally obsessed with this other guy." And there goes that joy.

"Don't tell me." Eames moaned, not realising that Arthur's hands had moved slightly so they were now half way up his biceps, having a subtle feel of Eames' impressive arm muscles. "You do _not_ fancy Harry bloody Potter."

"Ew, no." They laughed a little. "The guy I like is _way _hotter than Harry – and Draco actually."

"Oh do tell." Again with the sarcasm. "I'm simply _dying_ to hear."

"Well," Arthur first looked down to the ground – the way Eames always wished he would when they were talking – then looked back up, sporting a gorgeous blush. "He's called Eames, but I constantly fantasise about calling him by his real name because I think Nicholas is really sexy. He has _incredible_ arms and a smile that makes my heart melt. But don't tell him I told you." The boyish grin Arthur was bearing, joined with the words he'd just shared, made Eames' body hum with adrenaline.

"Arthur, darling. I had no idea."

"Yeah. So, do you think I have a chance with him?"

"I don't know, he _is_ a little out of your league." Arthur batted the side of Eames' head playfully, placing his hands on either side of Eames' neck afterwards. Eames' chuckled. "Darling, he wouldn't have it any other way." Eames' hands found their way happily to Arthur's waist and pulled them together in the sweetest kiss Professor Slughorn had ever seen. Of course, he hated it though. Slughorn hated change.


	2. Prefect's Bathroom

Everyone; by now, had heard about the prefect's bathroom on the fifth floor. Something that Arthur could never wrap his head around though was why nobody ever used it. He simply couldn't comprehend why it hadn't crossed anyone's mind that having a bath in there would be really nice. Maybe it was Moaning Myrtle's presence that put them off. Whatever it was, Arthur wasn't about to be put off by it. Having tried to use the showers provided in the Ravenclaw bathrooms – and hating every insufferable, self-conscious second of it – Arthur had come to the decision that he simply had to bathe alone, in privacy. And so, on Sunday at lunch time; when everyone was either watching the Quidditch practise or eating in the Great Hall, Arthur – robed up – was sneaking into the prefect's bathroom.

It was beautiful. The bathtub was gigantic, and filled to the top, overflowing even, with delightfully hot water, bubbles flying everywhere.

"Ah, perfection." Arthur sighed contentedly, shrugging out of his robe and stepping down into the water gratefully. At first Arthur swam lengths of the bath, then settled at the far side, leaning his back against the wall and looking out over the bathroom. This made it remarkably easy for him to spot a – not so subtle – Eames skulking in through the door. "Eames, what the hell are you doing here?" Eames acted shocked and surprised, immediately averting his eyes to the high ceilings, not that he'd be able to see any of Arthur if he tried to look, the bubbles covered everything below his shoulders.

"Darling! Sorry, I-I didn't know you were in here."

"Eames, what are you doing here?"

"I came hoping for a quiet bath actually: I hate the Slytherin showers, they make me feel so self conscious." Arthur could surely relate to that, but what did Eames have to feel self conscious about? As Arthur eyed him up and down appreciatively, he could find nothing wrong with those shoulders, that neck, those arms, that waist, those legs, heck, even his feet looked (in some unbelievable way) attractive. Arthur also noticed that Eames was wearing his Slytherin robe, proving that he was indeed only after some peaceful bathing. "Arthur pet? Are you alright?" Arthur hadn't spoken in some time, and his eyes hadn't moved from Eames' body.

"Yes, quite. As much as I understand your needs Eames, you'll have to go somewhere else: I'm using this bathroom."

"But sweet pea, this bathroom's the only one I know of."

"Well I'm sorry Eames, but unless you want to bathe _with_ me, you need to go elsewhere." Eames looked mischievously thoughtful.

"Well...now that you mention it..."

"Eames I am not sharing this bath with you!"

"Oh come on Arthur! The bloody thing's massive – you'd never know I was even here I promise!"

"I can guarantee that you can't keep that promise Eames." _Because every time I see you I am constantly aware of your presence_, Arthur thought, sighing at his own obsession. Engrossed in his own thoughts, Arthur hadn't noticed Eames slowly creeping towards the edge of the bath, gradually undoing the front of his robes.

"Oh but _darling_," Eames practically purred. "I could make it worth your while." Eames winked as the final knot in his robe came undone, falling gently from his hands.

"Eames." Arthur warned.

"Yes sweetheart?" Eames smiled in his cheeky way and turned around, so his back was facing Arthur.

"Do _not_ take off that ro-" Arthur was interrupted by Eames sliding his robe off his shoulders, allowing it to fall to the floor and giving Arthur a full view of Eames' naked ass. Arthur was all at once incredibly thankful that his crotch was hidden by bubbles: several of his fantasies were coming true all at once.

"Now darling, don't be mad. I just want you to know I'm about to turn around, so if you don't want to see, close your eyes for around, five seconds, and then I'll be covered in bubbles and all will be well. I promise." There was no way Arthur was going to close his eyes: he wanted to see _everything_. Just imagine how much more vivid his dreams could be if he knew...more about Eames. When he did turn, Arthur's jaw dropped. Eames was – by any means – hung. Arthur had the strange sensation of having his pride hit concerning his own pride, and his libido hit concerning his immensely growing desire to have Eames ravish him for the next hour. "See anything you like sugar?" Eames caught his attention and Arthur's head snapped up to eye level, his face turning tomato red.

"Yes." Arthur quietly revelled in the glory of Eames' own blush. He knew that Eames would never expect him to be honest. As Eames' body disappeared into the bubbles, Arthur swam over to him. Eames smiled uncharacteristically sheepishly down at Arthur as a pair of creamy white arms rubbed up his torso and wrapped around his neck. "_Eames._" Arthur sighed. Arthur smiled his own shy grin when he felt Eames' hands slide down his back to rest on his waist.

"You know Arthur, since Potions, I can't stop thinking about you." Eames whispered into the top of Arthur's hair, inhaling that gorgeous smell he's learned to love. "I-I want you to call me by my real name." Arthur looked up at Eames in surprise.

"Really?" Eames smiled adoringly at the sparkle in Arthur's hopeful eyes.

"Yes. So badly darling."

"Oh _Nicholas_!" Arthur sighed heavily, pulling Eames closer and kissing his neck. "Hmmm, I've wanted to say that for so _long_! I thought you hated that name?"

"From anyone but you darling. You make it beautiful."

"No Eames, _you_ make it beautiful. You're such a wonderful person." Eames grinned and gave Arthur what he was sure was the first set of bedroom eyes that have ever been sent his way. Arthur did that looking down thing that Eames was in love with, and Eames couldn't _not_ kiss him...all over his neck. Arthur moaned enthusiastically. "Mmm, _Nicky_!" Eames drew back swiftly, causing Arthur to wonder if he'd overstepped some boundary. "Eames?" He asked uncertainly.

"Say that again."

"What?"

"My name, say it again."

"Nicholas?"

"No, the other way."

"Oh, Nicky."

"Nng." Eames moaned, his stance faltering and his eyes fluttering shut. Arthur's self-assurance soared; knowing he had this amazing control over Eames gave him so much confidence.

"_Nicky_." Arthur whispered it close to Eames' ear, and smiled gleefully as Eames' grip on his waist tightened and ridiculous lips caressed his neck lustfully. Arthur's body began to heat up even more than it had from the water.

"Oh _Arthur_, oh _darling_. Please can. Please can..." Eames couldn't even finish his sentence he was so turned on at that moment in time.

"Please can what?" Arthur purred, rubbing his hands up and down Eames' chest, absolutely loving the feel of solid muscle and the beginnings of hair there.

"Please, come to my dorm with me?" Arthur tensed up: they were only 16, he'd never even gone as far as he and Eames were going with anyone else before, he was nervous now that he actually registered the situation.

"E-E-Eames-"

"Oh darling, please don't be scared: I'm as frightened as you are." Arthur looked up at Eames, his doe eyes simply glowing. "Trust me, I'm just as scared. But I want to do this with you." Arthur took a deep breath, and then grinned up at Eames.

"Of course I trust you Nicholas." Eames' blush grew right down his neck. "Come on, let's go. I think if we hurry, we can sneak in before the prefects get back from the Quidditch match." Arthur took Eames' hand and was leading him out of the bath, blushing as Eames saw his fully exposed body, only to be completely reassured by Eames lifting Arthur's hand to his mouth and gently kissing it, his eyes never leaving Arthur's. Together, they robed up and ran from one flight of moving stairs to the next, hurriedly escaping to the solitude and intimacy of Eames' – currently empty – dorm room.

Thank you to both of my reviewers for the last chapter! Hope you enjoyed this one.


	3. Quidditch

This story is different to the last two chapters, but don't worry – I might go back to those two again ;D

Disclaimer: I own nothing in any of my stories. Inception and its characters belong to Christopher Nolan. Lucky guy.

Draco had been looking at Arthur _all day_. Arthur couldn't help but blush. He loved a bad boy streak. Since his eleventh birthday when he'd got the letter, he had been _dying_ for this day to come: the day when – _finally_ – he could try out for the Quidditch team. For three years he had been at this school, last year he broke his arm just before tryouts and couldn't make the team. Draco had made the team, naturally. Sure, he bought his way in, but he's still on the team, and Arthur was _so_ attracted to that. People who played sports just...did something for him. Plus, everyone else in Hogwarts played to Arthur's other kink – British accents. God, he loved a British accent. They just made everything sound so _sexy_ and _charming_ and...Arthur bit his lip while maintaining his eye contact with Draco across the pitch. Draco and the team were all eyeing up Arthur and the other team wannabes. But there was something different about the way Draco was staring relentlessly at Arthur that just screamed: _I want you_.

"Alright maggots, let's get started." Marcus Flint – Slytherin's team captain – said. Arthur bashfully looked away from Draco's penetrating stare as the team dispersed and Draco made his way over to Arthur.

"Hey Arthur." He said demurely, getting eye contact from Arthur again. "Good luck getting on the team. And listen," Leaning closer to Arthur, Draco looking him up and down, Arthur swooned in towards him a little; he was such a _bad_ boy. "If these guys don't want you on the team, I'm sure I can find a way to uh..._persuade_ them." And like that, Arthur had Draco's breath in his ear and his hand picking at the corner of Arthur's wrist guard.

"Thanks Draco." Arthur replied, face going as red as the Gryffindor's Quidditch kit.

...

"I made the team!" Arthur squealed to Eames – his best friend and fellow Slytherin. There's no way that Arthur would ever admit it to Eames, but he also harboured the biggest crush on him since Cathy Earnshaw and Heathcliff hooked up. Eames was Arthur's _perfect_ guy, even with all his imperfections. Which just made him _even more_ perfect! Eames was taller than Arthur, and so much broader! He played rugby during the summer when he was at home, which gave him the most defined muscles on his arms and shoulders – Arthur's favourite kind of muscles. He was a particularly cuddly person, and more than once Arthur had woken up in the Slytherin common room with Eames wrapped around him. '_You just looked so adorable I couldn't resist darling!_' That's another thing: Eames called him darling. Among many other pet names that made Arthur melt. _And_ Arthur was the only one in the _whole school_ who Eames let call him by his first name: Alfred. Or as Arthur usually said: "Alfie! I've made the team! Aren't you happy for me?"

"Of course I'm happy for you! Darling I'm ecstatic!" Eames stood from his armchair and spread his arms out wide. "Well come here and hug me then!" Arthur squealed again and leapt for Eames' arms, wrapping his legs around his waist and squeezing him tight. They sat down in the armchair, Arthur straddling Eames' lap and Eames' hands casually on Arthur's waist. Their breaths mingled as Arthur eyed up Eames' plump lips appreciatively and Eames found himself lost in the depths of Arthur's brown hues. "So..." Eames said breathily, tilting his head a little more towards Arthur's, their foreheads almost meeting. "...are you excited pet?"

"Um, yeah." Arthur replied, too loud for the proximity, as he clumsily and quickly moved out of Eames' lap and stumbled over to the loveseat by the fire. "Eames, I still don't get why you didn't tryout: you'd be a fantastic beater."

"It's like I've said before, love: it's just not my game. I like contact sports."

"I bet you do." Arthur replied suggestively. Eames laughed in that rich, warm way he did and his eyes smiled at Arthur with such strong emotions that Arthur had to look away at the fire. It was always like this between them: one of them would say something undeniably suggestive, the other would flirt a reply, then the initial speaker would choke up and the atmosphere would become unbearably awkward. Arthur _hated_ it. In Arthur's head, he never would have choked up and he'd still be on Eames' lap right now, grinding down on him while they had a heated make-out session. Eames' hands would glide up his thighs; squeezing him and making him shudder. Then Arthur's tongue would stroke the roof of Eames' mouth and Eames would groan appreciatively, large palms coming to rest on Arthur's ass – Eames always was a little handsy. Then Arthur would grin against Eames' lips because he _loves_ handsy Eames, and he'd bite down on that _goddamn_ lower lip and pull on it because Eames has a gorgeous mouth. Then, Arthur's hands would come up to Eames'-

"Face."

"Huh?"

"I said you should see the look on your face, darling. What are you thinking about?" Eames asked with amusement evident on his face. Arthur's face went redder than it already was when he realised that he'd just been imaginary-dry-humping Eames to oblivion. "Darling? Are you alright?" Before he knew it, Arthur was being heated from one side by Eames' thick body, one arm curling around the back of the loveseat. On to Arthur's shoulder. "Not excited to the point of ill health I hope?"

"N-no, of course not. I just...got distracted is all."

"Distracted by what?" Eames' curiosity got the better of him – as per – and he squeezed Arthur closer to him. Almost sat on Eames' lap, Arthur was admittedly thankful they were in a sort of spooning position, that way Eames couldn't see his ridiculous blushing face.

"By you, what else? It's always so hard to focus when you're around."

"Whatever _do_ you mean my dearest love?" Eames replied gleefully, smiling and cuddling Arthur closer. Arthur could feel the cotton of Eames' charcoal grey cable knit sweater against his side and swooned a little: sweaters fit Eames so well, and he looked so adorable in them!

"You know what I mean Mr!" Arthur giggled, poking Eames hard in the side, causing Eames to twitch at the ticklish sensation and grin. "You with your voice and your hair and your shoulders and your...hands." Arthur realised he'd begun to ramble and probably told Eames more than he should and oh crap. He should just look away at the carpet now so Eames can't see how much he's blushing.

"Darling...I had no idea." Arthur felt Eames' arm slide from his shoulder to his waist and pull him even closer. The next thing Arthur knew, Eames' lips were at the back of his neck, kissing him softly. "I'm glad to hear it." Arthur shivered at the deep murmur of Eames' rumbling voice. A strong, masculine hand clutched at Arthur's and pulled the two boys into an intimate embrace. Now Eames was sat on the loveseat, with Arthur pressed up against his side, their arms tight around Arthur's waist, hands joined. Eames' lips nudged Arthur's jaw and Arthur turned his head away from Eames' face. "What's the matter pet?" Eames asked quietly.

"Eames..." Arthur had seen Eames talking to Ron Weasley the previous day. They seemed to be joking around. Having fun. Touching. Flirting. Then there was Draco. Arthur liked Draco. This had to stop.

"Beautiful..." Eames continued to kiss Arthur's jaw softly, working down his neck. Arthur knew about a certain...weak spot, which happened to be at the joining of his neck and shoulder. Eames' kisses were headed that direction, and Arthur knew that if they didn't stop before then, they'd never stop.

"Eames. _Alfie._" Arthur drawled a little, already losing his composure as Eames' plush lips touched his neck again. Arthur began leaning back against the arm of the loveseat, Eames leaned in after him, his hand travelling down Arthur's side while the other went across the top of the loveseat. Eames was being handsy. His hand was creeping down to Arthur's hip, stroking him a little, before continuing and caressing his thigh. He squeezed and Arthur shuddered, leaning his head back against the arm rest. "Don't."

"Don't what?" Those lips. That spot. They met.

"_Don't stop_." Arthur moaned, his hands finding Eames' face and pulling their lips together. Finally! Arthur was making out with Eames! They lay back onto the loveseat, Eames climbing on top of Arthur and feeling him up even more. "Mmm," Arthur mumbled between frantic, passionate kisses. "_Alfie_!" Eames groaned in response to that, bucking down into Arthur as a reflex. Oh yeah, screw Ron, and Draco. This was gonna be good...

I might continue this...ya never know! Reviews are my favourite present of all [hinthint!] ;D


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